


Statistics

by five_of_five



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e11 The Hive, M/M, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_of_five/pseuds/five_of_five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard is dead, Rodney McKay knows this. So why is it that John is walking around Atlantis as though he weren't blown to bits a few hours earlier? (Episode tag set immediately following Season 2, Episode 11: “The Hive”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Statistics

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Repetitiveness, no use of real statistics  
>  **Timeline:** Immediately following Season 2, Episode 11: “The Hive”  
>  **Author's Notes:** An incredibly late birthday present for the wonderful, brilliant, amazing, beautiful, glorious [](http://mrstotten.livejournal.com/profile)[**mrstotten**](http://mrstotten.livejournal.com/). I am so sorry and I know this is incredibly late Mags, but I hope you enjoy anyway. I LOVE YOU!
> 
> With thanks to [](http://veritas-st.livejournal.com//profile)[**veritas_st**](http://veritas-st.livejournal.com/) for excellent beta work and [](http://chica-charlie.livejournal.com/profile)[**chica_charlie**](http://chica-charlie.livejournal.com/) for assuring me that the porn didn't suck.

Rodney can’t stop shaking despite the fact that the Wraith enzyme has been completely out of his system for approximately twelve hours. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

John is dead.

That John is up, walking around and no doubt would strongly contest the rumor of his demise also doesn’t matter. John’s dead and Rodney’s a genius so what does flyboy know?

Sure John had been presumed dead before, but this time is different. This time John is not only merely dead, he’s really most sincerely dead.

Let’s list all the various ways John Sheppard had died this time shall we:

  * Didn’t listen to Rodney McKay…again
  


  * Taken prisoner by crazy people…again
  


  * Captured by Wraith…again
  


  * Faced off with Wraith Queen…again
  


  * Began firefight between two Wraith hive ships…at least that one’s new
  


  * Close proximity to gigantic explosion… _again!_
  



Nope. John is dead and nothing the smirking fucker says can change that fact.

Not ever.

“Why aren’t you dead?” He’d asked. Those were Rodney’s first words upon seeing his team…seeing John again. “Why aren’t you dead?” He had seen him die, he had watched as a lone dart fired upon a fucking _hive_ ship. His face had lit up in joy and disbelief and he had known, he had just _known_ that it was John. That he’d done it again.

And he’d known just as surely that John had been killed in that blast.

Rodney can still remember the message from Atlantis that John, Ronon and Teyla were alive. He hadn’t believed it. Not until he walked into the infirmary and saw them all there. He still didn’t believe it.

There was no way John Sheppard could have survived.

Rodney had watched him die.

He’d lived with that knowledge. Felt it settle deep in his gut like he’d swallowed shards of glass, each one stabbing over and over and _over_ as his insides twisted in on themselves.

 _Why aren’t you dead?_

 _How can you be alive?_

 _I felt you die._

John is dead and Rodney is wandering the corridors of Atlantis, lost.

Statistically speaking, John has been dead since their second day in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Long before Rodney thought of him as anything other than just another American GI Joe wannabe. Long before he made Rodney laugh (with him, not just at him). Long before he took Rodney’s breath away with his stupid heroics and even more stupid grin. Long before Rodney realized John was the best, maybe the only, friend he’d ever had.

Long, long before Rodney fell in love with him.

John is dead.

John is standing in the doorway to his quarters in nothing but pajama bottoms demanding to know what Rodney’s doing here at this hour.

John is dead.

John is holding his hand against Rodney’s forehead asking him what’s wrong.

John is dead.

John’s lips are gentle and warm beneath his own.

John is dead.

John is kissing him back.

Rodney snaps to with John’s tongue in his mouth and his hands mapping the soft hair and firm muscle of John’s chest. He follows a path known only to his own mind, brushing past ticklish sides and around to feel the contours of John’s delicious back, fingers dancing along the dips and planes formed by shoulder blades and spine.

John places the flat of his palm against Rodney’s collarbone, bracing himself as he pulls away.

“McKay, wait. What’s gotten into you?” A look of slowly dawning horror spreads across John’s face. “Shit, has some _thing_ gotten into you?!”

Rodney’s semi-hysterical laughter is probably not helping the situation but he can’t hold it in. John’s so warm and Rodney feels like the distance between them is sucking all the heat from his body, making him shake even worse.

“Of all days to begin asking sensible questions at the curious behavior of others, you pick today. That figures,” Rodney laughs again before settling into quiet tremors.

“McKay,” John tries again. “You’re not making any sense,” he snaps his free hand in front of Rodney’s unresponsive eyes. “McKay!” John moves his hand from Rodney’s clavicle to cup his face. “…Rodney,” a whisper now.

Rodney slowly lifts his eyes to meet concerned blue.

“Please,” he whispers.

“What is it Rodney?” John searches Rodney’s face, frightened by how lost he looks. “Rodney,” he says carefully. “I think you’re in shock. I’m gonna call Beckett and-“

“No!” Rodney grabs John’s arm before he can reach for his comm. “Please, just…please,” Rodney leans in, kissing John once again, instantly feeling warmed. He wraps his body around John’s, tremors lessening as John’s warmth pours into him. Filling him. Steadying him. Grounding him.

John pauses and Rodney can feel him thinking, weighing, considering. Can feel the moment he relents and suddenly Rodney is moving, back, back, back, down.

Softness below and hardness above, warmth all around even as John strips him down, strips them both down until there’s nothing. Nothing but skin; skin and want and _rightthefucknow-_

“Please,” Rodney says again, louder this time as John’s erection brushes his own. “More,” his lack of verbal acuity is disturbing, or it would be if his brain could process the loss. Rodney knows there’s something wrong with him, knows he’s missing something, but he also knows where to find it. Who has what he’s missing.

“Need, more,” he bucks up as John grinds down. “Need-“

“Shhh,” John soothes. “It’s okay, Rodney. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” John presses a hard kiss to Rodney’s forehead. “I’ll take care of you.”

And John is gone. Not gone. Rodney sits up and watches John move down his body, taking his cock into that perfect mouth, sucking him down. It’s too much, heat and wet everywhere, and Rodney’s trembling again, but for a very different reason now.

John swallows and Rodney sees supernovas erupt behind his eyes as he clicks almost into place.

“John,” he gasps. “John, I need you. I need more,” John pulls off with a disgruntled sounding plop.

“Seriously? I’m blowing you and you’re critiquing me? Sorry McKay, but I haven’t done this since Basic.”

“No you addlebrained living-action-figure,” Rodney smacks the back of John’s head, the swat turning into a caress. “I mean more of _you_ ,” Rodney rolls his eyes as if this was obvious; John’s irritation kindling a fire of a different, and far more familiar, nature in Rodney.

“McKay, if I’d known wrapping my lips around your dick would not only restore your cognitive abilities but also your nonsensical ramblings, I would have stuck to frottage.”

How it was possible for a man to be so very vexing while naked was beyond Rodney, and considering who Rodney is, that’s saying something.

“Sorry Colonel, I’ll try to use small words: I. Need. You. To. Fuck. Me.” Rodney looks expectantly at John…who seems to be suffering a small shock himself. “Come on Sheppard, I used monosyllabic words, you can’t still be having trouble understanding me,” Rodney pulls John back up until they’re sitting face-to-face.

“You. In me. Now.”

John searches his face, Rodney doesn’t know what he’s looking for but thank the Ancients or whomever it is that plays with mortals, because he seems to have found the right answer (if his surging forward to tackle Rodney back to the bed is any indication).

There’s a fumbling to Rodney’s right as John attempts to search his nightstand one-handed while his lips are glued to Rodney’s neck. Rodney looks over and thinks he sees the bottle John’s trying to reach.

“Left,” he grunts out. John mouths slightly to the right, settling on Rodney’s pulse. “Yes- I mean, no, your hand, left, but god, _yes_ ” Somehow John gets the message, well half the message, as his hand flies in the wrong direction. “ _My_ left, Sheppard. Why the hell would I be saying your left? My god you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“A thousand apologies, Rodney,” John snarked detaching himself. “I was a little distract- did you just call me pretty?”

“Uh…no,” Rodney darts away, grabbing the lotion John had been reaching for.

“You totally did! You think I’m gorgeous,” John sing-songs.

Rodney tosses the lotion at John’s head.

“If you don’t fuck me soon Sheppard, I’m going to go find someone who will.”

John stills, grin slipping and a dangerous glint entering his eyes.

“Oh, like hell you are,” John looms closer, forcing Rodney down onto his back. “I believe you’ll find that this ass is _mine_ , McKay,” John punctuates his point with a not-so-gentle slap to Rodney’s posterior.

Rodney jumps slightly, far more turned on than he’s willing to admit.

John nuzzles Rodney’s throat, nipping sharply before pulling back to lock eyes with Rodney.

“Do you understand McKay?” Dear lord he practically growls it.

“In all the known universe, Sheppard,” Rodney bucks up involuntarily. “The only thing I don’t understand is why you’re still _talking_ about owning my ass instead of _proving_ it to me.”

John’s features take on an almost wolfish hunger, every tightly controlled movement of his body screaming of a challenge accepted. Adrenaline floods Rodney’s system, clearing some of the cobwebs and his limbs twitch with the desire to fight or flee.

Almost like he can sense it, John grabs both of Rodney’s wrists, bringing them together above his head and holding them one-handed. John will let him go if that’s what he wants; Rodney knows this as surely as he knows his own name or that everyone who works for him is an idiot. All Rodney has to do is struggle, say ‘no’, look worried, and John will stop this game.

But why the fuck would Rodney _ever_ want him to stop?

The adrenaline turns to something warm seeping through his veins, making his extremities feel fuzzy and sharp at the same time. Like he can feel everything , is a part of everything. Rodney bucks up, sliding against John, a matching grin on his own face.

This. _This_ right here is what he was looking for tonight.

John reaches between them, fingers somehow already coated in lotion (and Rodney has to give him mega skill points there) one finger circling gently before he dips it in slightly and Rodney instantly tenses, body rejecting the intrusion.

“Rodney?” John questions.

“I’m fine,” Rodney lies. “Just…been a while here too.”

“How long a while?”

Silence.

“Rodney?”

“…Lab partner in college,” Rodney mumbles.

“Fuck, McKay!” John backs away like he’s afraid to even touch anymore.

“I’m trying Sheppard, but I need a hand, if you know what I mean.” Rodney attempts to waggle his eyebrows seductively but even he can tell that it’s a miserable failure. He sighs, more than a little exasperated.

“Just take it slow,” Rodney reaches out to grab John’s hand, guiding him back where they both so desperately need him to be.

“You’re sure?” John sounds worried, like he still thinks Rodney might break.

“Have you ever known me to be unsure of anything?”

“Rodney, the last time you were egotistically certain of something you destroyed a _solar system_.”

“Only five sixths of one,” Rodney grumbles as John huffs out a laugh.

“Fair enough, I just…” John looks down and Rodney cups his cheek with his free hand.

“You won’t hurt me. Come on, Sheppard, you know me. Is there any chance that I’ll be stoic about it if this goes too far too fast?” That gets Rodney a real smile. John kisses him again, soft and sweet.

“Good point, McKay,” John makes his way down Rodney’s body, licking a long strip up Rodney’s cock as he softly presses a digit inside.

Rodney’s awash with sensations, discomfort and pleasure warring within him until finally pleasure wins out and he feels himself relaxing around John’s finger. The moments blur and one finger turns to two…three. Nothing existing anymore but stretch and burn and glorious wet heat; he’s ready, he’s so ready.

“John,” is that broken, gasping voice his?

John’s eyes drag up, taking in the writing man above him, somehow getting the message. He removes his fingers and Rodney can’t help the whimper that escapes his lips at the combination of their loss and the sight of John rolling on a condom.

“Shh,” John soothes him. “Rodney, I need you to turn over, it’ll make this a little easier on you.”

Rodney tries to move, his limbs long since turned to jelly, in the end John helps position him on hands and knees. John traces patterns up Rodney’s thighs and over his ass as he settles in behind him.

“Ready?”

“John, if you don’t fuck me right now, so help me, I will stick your dick in liquid nitrogen.” It’s not easy to threaten a man when you’re naked and he’s about to fuck you into the mattress, but Rodney’s fairly certain he pulls it off well.

Although perhaps not as well as he’d like if John’s laugh and the slap to his ass are any indication.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, McKay.”

Any response Rodney might have been forming is driven from his mind when John thrusts forward, startling a sharp gasp out of them both. John pulls out slightly before slamming back in, and it’s like coming home. John works himself in and out, Rodney pushing back to meet each thrust and finally, _finally_ his world is making sense again.

The two fall into steady rhythm, until John adjusts slightly and _ohgodfuckyes!_ Rodney cries out and John hits that sweet spot over and fucking _over_ until Rodney’s arms are quivering with the effort of supporting his weight and John drops his head between Rodney’s shoulder blades, leaving a kiss along his spine and Rodney can feel him smiling against warm skin.

“J-John,” Rodney stutters out.

“Do you need something, Rodney?” John teases him. Rodney barely has the perverse stubbornness to clench around John’s dick in retaliation.

“What do you think, Sheppard?” Rodney’s really very proud of his ability to form sentences with the way John’s moaning behind him. Fuck that voice should be illegal.

John reaches around and slowly jacks Rodney off, the pace a maddening counterpoint to John’s constant, relentless thrusts.

Rodney’s going to explode. No, seriously, his brain is going to turn to mush, dribble out his ears and without the signals being sent to various parts of his body he’s going to overheat and splatter John’s room with chunks of scientist and it’ll serve the sadistic fucker right.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re- fuck, a real romantic, McKay?”

“What?” Rodney’s confused and it’s not fair of John to say confusing things when he’s the one turning Rodney’s brain to sludge.

“Chunks of- Jesus Rodney, scientist?”

“Oh. Fuck…that wasn’t- god, supposed to be out loud,” Rodney pants out.

“What a surprise, you lose what little brain-to-mouth barrier you have when getting fucked.”

“Better than being an absolute fuck while fucking,” wait, what did he just say?

“What did you just say?”

“You, oh god, right there! You heard me.”

John speeds up, his hand moving in time with his thrusts now.

“I heard you, McKay. But as usual, I didn’t understand you.”

“You wouldn’t have- unh, have it any other way and you know it.”

John nuzzles against Rodney’s neck, nipping lightly at his ear.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” he whispers before focusing completely on driving Rodney out of his mind. Each thrust hitting that spot deep inside, making Rodney moan.

Rodney can feel it now, coiling up inside of him, building steadily until at last-

“John!” he cries out muscles clenching as orgasm floods through him. Distantly he can feel John’s release and hear his own shout of ecstasy, following him down, down, down.

Gasping for air, Rodney tries to shift from under the deceptively heavy man currently crushing his lungs.

“Sorry,” John mutters rolling to the side. “That was…wow.”

“Your masterful grasp of the understatement is, as always, amazing,” Rodney mumbles into the pillow.

“What was that?” John asks, tugging annoyingly at Rodney’s shoulder until he rolls over and settles into John’s side. Rodney smiles tiredly.

“Nothing, just agreeing…for once,” he says as John huffs a bit, arranging himself more fully around Rodney.

Silence falls between them, comfortable and warm. Rodney’s nearly asleep when John speaks again.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought all this on?” John asks.

Rodney sighs, snuffling slightly into John’s shoulder.

“You died today,” he whispers softly.

John looks down, a confused frown creasing his brows. He takes hold of Rodney’s chin trying to lift his gaze, but Rodney stubbornly refuses and John stills, expression clearing. John moves Rodney in the opposite direction, holding Rodney’s head against his chest.

“You hear that?” John asks, carding his fingers through Rodney’s short hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” Rodney smiles and holds on a little tighter, breath evening out as sleep claims him at last.

Statistically speaking, John is dead.

Well statistics are for pussies without the talent to get into _real_ mathematics. Statistics are for those without the courage and luck to become big damn heroes. Statistics are for the sorry bastards who don’t have Rodney McKay watching their backs.

Rodney defies the laws of nature on a daily basis. Statistics can kiss his ass.

He has John’s warm body and steady heartbeat beneath him to prove it.


End file.
